A change of Occupation
by GenderlessPerson
Summary: All he wanted was to live a normal life (as normal as an immortal can anyway)… So why did he have to be roped into the Mafia after finally gaining his freedom? And damn you Death for being such a bloody git! MoD!Harry, Harry as Skull.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **All he wanted was to live a normal (as normal as an immortal can anyway) life… Why did he have to be roped into the Mafia after finally gaining his freedom!? And damn you Death for being a bloody git! MoD!Harry, Harry as Skull.

**Main Pairing: **Harry Potter (Skull) / Undecided

**Side Pairing(s): **Canon pairings _for now_

**Warning: **AU, MoD!Harry, Mentions of rape, abuse & cannibal, Slash (Male and Male Relationship), HP as Skull

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or Katekyo Hitman Reborn… obviously

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

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><p><em>Location: Azkaban<em>

In one of the many cells at Azkaban, a man in his late 100s stared blankly at the dirty walls he had wholly memorized during his century old stay in prison. He knew every nook, cranny, and cracks from the constant gazing he did daily. He would be a considered ancient by Muggle standards, however his appearance was deceiving. He looked no more than seventeen, and had not aged even a day after he had gathered all three Hallows in his hands.

_He regretted ever opening the Christmas gift he had received at eleven by Dumbledore._

After the demise of one Tom Marvolo Riddle, or better known as Lord Voldemort to the public, the Wizarding world decided that tossing him into Azkaban was the best way to repay his kindness. They proclaimed him an uprising Dark Lord, already with an army at his back and call.

_He regretted saving those fools who relied on a teenager to save them. _

Not only was he given an unfair trail, he was also betrayed by those he thought were his family. The Weasleys said that they thought of him as one of them, however when he was being _judged_, they spouted nonsense and proclaimed him a dastardly person whom constantly lied to gain attention – they also said that he had raped the youngest Weasley, Ginevra, after monologue-ing how he would trick the people into believing him a savior before claiming the title of Dark Lord.

_He regretted ever befriending Ronald Bilius Weasley and trusting the entire redheaded family._

What he didn't expect when he was being dragged out of the court by Aurors, was that Draco had stood up from his seat and demanded for his release, and for everyone to reconsider what they were intending to do to their savior. Draco fought hard for him, but it was all for naught. He was grateful though, and he had smiled in gratitude as the Aurors manhandled him away, Draco's shameful eyes looking at him in stubborn determination.

_He regretted ever declining Draco's hand of friendship back when he was still a naïve little eleven year old._

The first week inside Azkaban was a nightmare for him. The memories of his childhood, betrayals, and war, had raged through his head when a Dementor got close to his cell, tormenting him and tearing apart what little sanity he has. He was able to fight the Dementors' effects for the first few months, thinking stupidly that the Ministry would let him out and jokingly say that it was all a mistake. Of course, as expected, nobody came apart from the guards and Dementors.

_He regretted ever hoping for a hero to save him. _

After a few decades had passed, he feared the human guards more than the Dementors. They would defile him in many ways, laughing as he cried and begged for them to stop. He feared a person's touch more than the chill of those creatures. He wanted everything to stop, so he slit his throat using a sharp stone that used to be a piece of the wall. He should have known that it would not work.

_He regretted not letting the Dementors suck his soul rather than physically harming his own body._

The guards had seen him and announced him dead after an hour had passed, however he did not stay that way. He had suddenly coughed out a mouthful of blood, and was then shipped to the Unspeakables in order to test his immortal status – they greed for immortality. That was the most unforgettable experience in his life. They not only collected his (all of) body fluids for samples, but continued to kill him with different methods. From beheading to bleeding to death. Over and over and over. Again and again and again. That was the moment where he lost a portion of his sanity, and wanted the death of every Unspeakable. He did not remember how he had managed to escape their restraints and maimed them beyond recognition.

_He regretted not mastering his wandless Magic during his time at Hogwarts._

When he came to his senses, he was back in his cell, fresh blood still on his skin and restraints wrapped firmly around his person. The guards left him alone for a few months, but continued their treatment after that. When he was alone, he trained himself in the art of meditation, and because of this, his mentality was fortified. The Dementors had little to no effect over him now, and he was determined to become an animagus – a way for him to escape the human tormentors of his. Unless they were into bestiality that is.

_He regretted slacking and playing around when he was still a student._

After he had managed to become an animagus, he always transformed when in the company of humans – they left his panther [1] form alone in fear of him sinking his fangs into their flesh. He had managed to kill all the guards that had entered his cell, but there was no way out for him. The Ministry had applied a Magic absorption rune inside his cell, and a ward to keep him from leaving, immediately after his sentence after all. He was basically a Muggle, and he was lucky that the transformation did not require the usage of Magic outside of his body. As punishment for killing the guards, he was left without food. He ate the meat of those he had killed, too famished to care that he was becoming a cannibal.

_He regretted ever knowing the taste of human flesh. _

The meals from then on were always rotten meat, or fellow prisoners that had their souls eaten by the Dementors. He had hurled their bodies away in disgust at first, but when hunger took over, he ate with only tears as his company. It became the usual for him, and now he did not bat an eyelid even if he were given a single arm to feast on. He would gladly eat any meat, in both human and panther form.

_It was addictive, juicy and much tenderer than any animal meats._

Time flew by and he got used to his lifestyle. Sit in his cell to stare at the walls when the meat–… humans were patrolling, and exercise when alone. Wait for his meal, and eat anything they threw at him, no matter how rotten or disgusting it looked. Continue to meditate and exercise control of his inner Magic. Sleep when he was tired. Rinse and repeat.

Now after almost two centuries had passed by, he grew more impatient and fidgeted more. He wanted out of this cell of his, and he was currently in the middle of brainstorming –

"Prisoner 473." a person he did not recognized smiled at him from outside of his cell. The portly man had guards flunking him as if he were royalty.

Harry, how long he had not used his name even in his mind, only gazed at the man with blank eyes. After a few minutes of nothing but tensed (on their part) silence, he moved his gaze away to stare at the walls. It was much more interesting than the man's pimpled plump face.

"How dare you turn away from the Minister – when Minister Hisass was kind enough to grace someone as lowly as yourself with his presence!?" he did not need to turn to know that that was mea–human guard number 12 that yelled, offended on the Minister's behalf.

"Calm yourself, Geoffrey." The Minister (do all Ministers need to look incompetent to get elected?) said sternly before his voice was directed at Harry, full of insincere kindness. "How about a deal, Mr. Potter? I will free you from this prison in exchange for the location of the Resurrection Stone."

Harry only remained silent. He had expected someone to turn up and ask him the location of the Hallows, but he had not expected that it would be so late. He wondered idly what was happening outside of Azkaban. Did another Dark Lord pop up? If so, he would cheer for said Dark Lord and wish for the Magical world's doom.

"Mr. Potter, I know that you are displeased, and I completely understand. Having been here for more than a century would make anybody bear a grudge against the Ministry. But you have to understand… I am dearly in need of the Stone, before the other countries get their hands on it. You are still a citizen of Magical Britain – you are required to help your country."

Required to help? That was what they said when they told him about the prophecy. He was _required_ – destined – to save Magical Britain from the big bad Dark Lord Voldemort. Where did he end up after having saved his country? In prison. That's where.

_He regretted ever killing Riddle._

"You must understand, Mr. Potter, that the previous Minister, Fudge, had no choice but to detain you. You were harboring an army of Dark Wizards and Witches. I wish no ill upon gaining the Hallows, and will lock those three artifacts in the deepest of Goblin Vaults."

There was a slight edge in the tone the portly Minister used, and he recognized it as impatience. Harry only drew circles on the ground where he sat crossed legged. He suddenly felt a craving for _pig_ intestine pie. His emerald eyes shone underneath his messy bangs, and he lowered his head to hide the demented grin that appeared on his cracked and dry lips.

"You don't need to feel guilty of what you have done," The Pig (in his eyes) spoke kindly, misunderstanding the reason for his bowed head. "Let bygones be bygones… However if that does not satisfy you, the location of the stone would lighten up my days considerably."

Suddenly, as if a dam broke inside of him, Harry laughed – a high pitched deranged one that he idly recalled as Voldemort's signature laugh. He inwardly shrugged and continued, feeling amused at their respectively shocked, wary, and fearful expressions on their faces. When he finally stopped (his throat hurt like hell), he rose to stand and gave them a closed eye smile. It was an expression that didn't suit him, and his _visitors_ shuddered in unison.

"I demand that you give me the location of the Stone this instance!" The Minister all but shouted, his patience lost and all that remained was his reddened and angry face.

"Why don't we negotiate, Minister?" Harry's voice was a mere whisper, his throat too raw to speak louder.

"Very well." Pig grunted after a few moments of silence. "What is your demand?"

"To be thrown into the Veil inside the Death Chamber."

He could see that the Pig of a Minister was absolutely thrilled by the idea, though the Pig-human hybrid tried to hide it.

"That can be arranged."

"I shall disclose the information to you once I am but a few steps away from the Veil, Minister."

"Now, Mr. Potter, how can I know that you will tell the truth?" The empty smile on his face remained, unaffected as the man pointed his wand to Harry. He wasn't afraid of being under the Cruciatus curse, or pain in any form. Death was also a welcome to him.

"An Unbreakable vow, perhaps?"

"As if I will risk my own arm to make one with you, Mr. Potter."

"Of course of course… Perhaps I could swear on my Magic that I will disclose the whereabouts of the Stone – and you shall do the same on your part of the deal."

They were silent. Harry waited. He has all of eternity, where they only have a limited amount of time.

"By all means, take your time." He taunted mockingly.

"I, Ozias Jasper Hisass, swear on my Magic that I will bring Harry James Potter into the Death Chamber, but only if he were to swears that he knows the truthful location of the Resurrection Stone here and now." was grudgingly said through gritted teeth.

"Then I, Harry James Potter, swear on my Magic that I will truthfully disclose the location of the Resurrection Stone as I know it, to Ozias Jasper Hisass, but only if I were to stand directly in front of the Veil inside of the Death Chamber – unrestrained."

"Swear that you won't attack, maim, or kill, anybody on our way to the Death Chamber." The Pig paused for a moment before he continued. "And no detours." Damn.

He hummed as if in thought, but inwardly he was pleased. "I also swear on my Magic that I will be escorted to the Death Chamber without taking any detours, and will not attack, maim, or kill, anybody on our way there… and will only do so if threatened."

"So mote it be."

Harry felt, more than see his Magic react to the vow.

"Guards, unlock the cell and take off his restraints."

The guards were wary as they unlocked and entered his cell, but Harry only gazed at them emptily as they removed the wrists and ankles chains from him, before pushing him – quite roughly he might add – out of the cell.

He closed his eyes and bathed in the feeling of his Magic leaking out of his pores, chilling everyone in the area, worse than any Dementor could make them feel. When his eyes snapped opened, they glowed with unrestrained power, and Harry laughed as the guards and Minister immediately had their wands pointed at him in caution. He noted that their hands were shaking terribly, but he only chuckled and walked forward. He licked his chapped lips, hoping that one of them would attack his unguarded back – he would be allowed to kill the person in '_defense'_, as per stated in the vow.

When they were outside in the open, the Pig of a Minster took out a portkey and Harry placed a finger on it. The guards bowed to the Minister, and only after the two disappeared did they turn back to continue their duties.

_OOOO_

The walk to the Death Chamber was mildly amusing to Harry, and nerve wrecking to the Minister. Majority of the community only knew of Harry in stories or books, but his appearance was undisclosed to the future generations. Thanks to this, everyone only treated him like a mere criminal due to his Azkaban uniform, however when a Witch with long red hair had stopped in front of the Minister, Harry just knew that the woman was a Weasley.

His eyes roamed her body, and he raised a delicate brow at the state of her clothes. It was not hand me downs. They were new, and he could see the quality of it was high. He hummed absentmindedly as if he was not paying attention to anything, and dived into her mind when she looked at him in curiosity.

The vow did not say anything about Legilimencing someone.

What he found out wasn't much of a shock to him. In fact, he had expected it. This woman, Lavender Selena Weasley, is Ron and Hermione's great granddaughter. Ron had once unintentionally informed Lavender when he was drunk, that the Weasley family was once poor, but thanks to Harry's vaults, they became one of the richest families in the Wizarding World.

He continued to hum as he exited her mind, she not even noticing that her mind had been breached. After a few more minutes of the Minister and her conversing, Harry began to lose patience. Sure he would've loved to see what had changed in the time he has spent in Azkaban, but he was impatient as well. The faster he enters the Veil, the better.

"Who is this, Minister? If I may ask?" Lavender glanced at Harry shyly.

Harry knew that he was considered more on the above average side in the looks department, but won't his tangled long hair, and torn prison uniform turn anybody off? He doubted that he was decent to even look at currently. He could feel that the dirt and sweat and other things he would love nothing more than to wash off, were on his skin – he was caked in unidentified things. He must smell horrid as well.

"Ah… T-this is…" The Minister wiped the sweat on his cheek with a handkerchief nervously.

"Harry." He replied. He needed entertainment after a century of wall gazing. "Harry Potter. I used to go to school with your great grandparents – your family really should've visited to at least thank me for making them rich." He answered in a bored whispery monotone, as if he had not just proclaimed to be the Wizarding world's _fallen_ savior.

Weaselette only gapped at him in disbelief, and took an unconscious step back, obvious fear in those blue eyes of hers. The Pig sputtered and excused them hurriedly before he led – quite forcefully – Harry towards the elevator.

When they were the only two inside, Harry ignored the man's ranting about keeping his identity secret and all that rot. He didn't care and tuned the Pig-human hybrid out. They arrived at the Death Chamber soon after, and the Minister stood a few meters away from the Veil and Harry, his wand pointed directly at Harry's heart.

"Well?" The Pig impatiently questioned.

Harry turned around, his back facing the Veil, and tilted his head to the side as he stared into the Minister's eyes.

"The Resurrection stone is at Hogwarts, the Forbidden Forest to be exact."

"Where in the forest?"

"I don't know." Harry smiled a blood thirsty smile, whilst the Minister paled yet glared at Harry at the same time.

"What do you mean you do not know!? You swore –"

"That I would disclose the location _as I know it_. The last I saw the Stone was at the Forbidden Forest – where I threw it carelessly away. It might even be inside an animal's belly, or crap actually."

"Y-you…!"

"Well then… It was nice knowing you, Minister. You are as incompetent as Fudge, I might add." He pointed at the Pig, who was throwing spell after spell at him. He didn't even bother to block them, as they were weak enough to _bounce_ off of him without problem. "Avada Kedavra."

The Minister dropped dead the second he uttered those words. "You should've demanded that I be unable to attack or kill whilst still inside the Death Chamber, and not only when we are on our way here, Minister. This is why you're incompetent."

He took one last look at the Chamber he was in, and fell backwards into the Veil, fully intending to die and greet Death with a middle finger for being a bastard – and for making him immortal.

_He regretted a lot of things, but most of all… he regretted ever stepping into the Magical World._

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><p><strong>AN: I have a FB group, so join if you feel like it. The link is on my profile.**

I really really really wanted to make a KHR/HP xover fic for who knows how long! I've always been a fan of Skull, and I personally feel that everyone is severely underestimating his worth. I mean, he's an Arcobaleno, the seventh most strongest who are selected to be the holders of the pacifiers. So now… In the kingdom of fanfic… I shall make him powerful! Buahhahaahaha!

[1] The reason why I chose a Panther for Harry's animagus form, is because of the meanings behind the animal. Black Panther is the symbol of the death and rebirth, understanding of death, ability to know the dark, and aggressiveness. They are graceful, silent, and generally loners – extremely comfortable with themselves and are often drawn to other solitary people.

You all can vote who you want Harry/Skull to be paired with. One person per vote only though! I personally prefer to have no threesomes or harems. I am a person who dislikes any form of cheating or 'playing around'. One person to devote to is enough in my eyes.

Story recommendation for today: **Skull de Mort: Stuntman, Arcobaleno, Wizard!** By Love-is-Cyanide. I was inspired by this story. Harry left the Wizarding world after the war, and went to Italy – became a stuntman. He's immortal, so he has no problem with riding his bike dangerously. Even though Harry became Skull, and was stronger than the others, he was considered the Lackey because… of a misunderstanding at first. He thought that Reborn had used Magic to change his chameleon to a gun, so he had freaked out. Reborn thought that Skull was afraid of being shot, and proclaimed him the Lackey! It's a great story, so read it! I'm unsure if it's Slash though.

_**Rainbows and Meat Lovers,  
>GenderlessPerson<strong>_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary: **All he wanted was to live a normal life (as normal as an immortal can anyway)… So why did he have to be roped into the Mafia after finally gaining his freedom!? And damn you Death for being such a bloody git! MoD!Harry, Harry as Skull.

**Main Pairing: **Harry Potter (Skull) / Undecided

**Side Pairing(s): **Canon pairings _for now_

**Warning: **AU, MoD!Harry, Mentions of rape, abuse & cannibal, Slash (Male and Male Relationship), HP as Skull

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or Katekyo Hitman Reborn… obviously

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

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><p><em>Date: November 1950<br>Location: Italy, Florence _

He bolted up from bed with tangled up blankets around his legs, his whole body covered in a layer of cold sweat, as he hastily scanned his surroundings – inwardly terrified at the prospect that he was back in his _beloved_ cell at Azkaban. His face remained impassive all throughout his panicked observation, however when he finally recalled what had transpired, he fell back with a tired sigh.

It has already been a week, but to him, it felt like it was just yesterday. After he had entered the Veil, he was wholly disappointed. He had expected to be shredded or disintegrated, but he was only greeted by Death, whose personality was depressing by the way, and thrown into another World where Magic does not exist. Well, that was only half true anyway. _His_ form of Magic does not exist, but there was another kind.

A high density form of energy that was refined from one's own life force – the Dying Will Flame, or Deathperation Flame. All humans were gifted with these, however only a selected few are able to call out their Dying Will. He found out that these Flames were regarded as the symbol of the Mafia World, the Underground, and civilians were clueless about them – just like how Muggles were clueless about Magic.

Death, that depressing git, had gifted him with powers of this World (or dimension). He still retained his Magic of course, but he had decided not to use them unless in dire situations – he did not wish for a repeated experience in being experimented on due to his… uniqueness. He was unique, not a freak of nature. Oh, he would of course, continue to train in his wandless Magic in private. He didn't want his (sadly limited) skills to deteriorate.

He made an uncomfortable sound from the back of his throat at the memories of being toyed with by those evil _surgeons_ that called themselves Unspeakables, and slipped out of his bed. He sluggishly walked towards his bathroom, intending for a nice relaxing bath. He liked baths (an understatement). They reminded him that he was no longer denied basic hygiene. He was lucky that he did not develop OCD. Well, he did have a habit of wearing gloves and washing his hands frequently. But he did not have OCD. Really.

Whilst he waited for his tub to be filled by warm water, he brushed and flossed his teeth. When he was finished, he submerged himself and closed his eyes in satisfaction. He could stay underwater for an indefinite amount of time due to his immortality. His body would just 'reset' after he died anyway. The burning he felt in his lungs was kind of a pleasant sensation actually. And no, he was not a masochist.

The amount of time he stayed was unknown to him, but when he stepped out of his bathroom with only a towel tied around his waist, the sun was already high up the sky. He sighed a third time and donned on a pair of gloves, before he threw on some random shirt and pants – forgoing undergarments as per usual.

"Should start with making my own identity…" He murmured to himself as he headed towards his apartment door.

He suddenly halted in his steps and frowned. He was, as much as he loathed to admit it, incompetent with all electronic devices thanks to his years at Hogwarts. There was no way for him to make himself an identification card and passport without the aid of Magic or connections.

"Perhaps a change of appearance first…?" He nodded to himself before he turned on his heel and strode to his bedroom.

He stood in front of a full sized mirror and studied himself. He appeared still in his teens, but he could pass off as a baby-faced young adult (in his eyes anyway) if he wore mature clothing. His used to be long ebony hair had been cut short after his arrival in this World, and he could only compare it to that of a bird's nest. It was untamable and frankly, he had given up trying to comb it. His eyes were still the same shape, however the color made him seem almost… inhumane to be frank. They glowed in the dark, and in the light, they would be the brightest shade of green, similar to that of an emerald jewel – or the Killing Curse. They were also framed by long thick lashes, and he scowled at how girly they looked. He was proud that his eyes were the same as his mother's, but as a male, it was a blow to his manly pride.

He tilted his head slightly to the left. Perhaps he should dye his hair and wear contacts? His favorite color used to be red, but thanks to the Weasleys and Auror guards, he came to loathe said color. He definitely did not want to be a redhead. Perhaps purple? It was a unique color, and he was always fond of grape juice – he drank pumpkin juice just so he could fit in the definition of _norm_.

That settles it then. He would have purple hair and eyes. And maybe he should wear makeup? He heard that makeup could be used to _change_ the bone structure of one's face. He could make himself look less like Harry Potter.

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><p>He hummed a random tune as he read the instructions on the back of the (non-chemical) dye box in his hand. It appeared easy enough. He donned on a pair of plastic disposable gloves and added water into the mixture bottle afterwards, before thoroughly shaking it.<p>

After he was satisfied with the now perfectly combined paste, he placed some wet tissues onto his forehead for protection, before he applied the dye just like how the instructions said so, his eyes narrowed in what was known to be concentration as he stared into his bathroom mirror. Hair roots first…

The process took longer than expected, and when he was finally done – it literally took him a whole hour – he ran a hand through him now violet hair. His first dye-job was alright, but it could be better. Some areas were a little lighter than others. It wasn't that obvious so he chose to ignore it.

His eyes then settled onto the customized purple contact lenses sitting innocently next to the sink tap. It had been such a pain to get those. Cornea only contact lenses were made at the year 1950, and it was extremely expensive and was only affordable by rich people. He deemed it a dire situation and had used the Imperius Curse on the shop manager – he was broke after spending ¾ of the money the depressed git had given him to buy the current apartment he was in.

He, with much difficulty, inserted the lenses, before he idly grabbed one of his (new) makeup brushes.

First he needed a name – a cool name. He hummed a funeral march as he tapped his chin with the brush. He wasn't really good with names. He remembered naming a garter snake he had befriended GS; short for garter snake. Very _creative_. He snorted at his own thoughts and started painting – contouring – his face. Maybe he should name himself after someone he knew? He thought back to all the Wizards he had met before his imprisonment. He couldn't maintain his impassive expression and grimaced.

Dumbledore was a bastard manipulator who used him as a pawn, obliviating him every time he showed signs of rebelling or lashed out violently. Snape was a greasy git who can't see pass his jealousy and hatred over James, and took it out on Harry. Sirius looked at Harry and expected Harry to be his (dead) best friend, not his godson. Remus was a coward who ran the moment Sirius was killed, abandoning Harry in the process. The Weasleys are all traitors, nuff said. Lucius had a long and non-removable stick up his arse. Draco was someone he was grateful to, however he did not know the blonde well enough to respect him. He sighed and idly blended the _face paint_. He could not think of any–

Wait a second.

He suddenly smirked. Of course there was one that he held deep respect for; Tom Riddle. Even though Riddle was a megalomaniac who suffers delusions of his own importance, Harry could not deny that Riddle was strong. Stronger than anyone he knew. The man was a genius, and he could have made the Magical world prosper if he had used said genius by political means. If he had broken free of Dumbledore's control, he would have definitely ran to join Riddle. Surely the man would not kill his own Horcrux right?

He shrugged. The past was the past. Brooding over it was a waste of time.

He suddenly brightened. He could name himself after Riddle since he respected the man… however… He deflated and jutted his lower lip out. The name Tom was too plain. He traced his lips with a dark purple lipstick as he scowled. Perhaps he could use Voldemort since it originated from Riddle's true name anyway.

He juggled the name in his thoughts for a while. He didn't like the meaning behind Voldemort. He was not scared of that depressed git. His scowled lessened and he took a four palette purple eyeshadow. He could use de Mort as his last name though; in commemoration to Riddle, and Death wouldn't mind Harry using it – the entity may be a depressed git, but he was an _amusing_ depressed git. He drew a teardrop underneath his left eye with the purple lipstick absentmindedly.

Now… What should his first name be? He tried to think of anything that was in relation to Voldemort as he traced his lash and waterline with an eyeliner. Death Eaters? Slytherin? Dark Lord? Snakes? Red eyes? Egoistic bastard? Morsmordre? Hmm… He thought about the last one as he curled his lashes, before he elongated them with mascara.

"… Skull…" he whispered.

Not bad. Not bad at all. _Skull_ because Voldemort was obsessed with skulls – Harry, now named Skull, knew that since he was in Voldy's head most of the time during fifth to seventh year. The Dark Mark was patterned to be a skull because teenage Riddle was fascinated with them.

He set aside his makeup tools and gazed into the mirror. He blinked in surprise when he saw his own reflection. He looked quite different from Harry Potter… and so much cooler! His lips suddenly twitched and he laughed. It wasn't' the high pitched evil cackle, but a more pleasant and exuberant laugh.

"Skull de Mort is who I shall be from now on."

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><p><strong>AN: I have a FB group, so join if you feel like it. The link is on my profile.**

Hmm… I'm a huge fan of Reborn, and it's tempting to pair him with Skull… However, I don't think that the relationship would work due to Reborn's violent streak and _'I'm the best' _attitude. I think I'll be going for Fon… Or maybe even Bermuda (why did nobody vote for him!?). Anyway, don't worry about the pairing too much. This story won't be based on romance – it's more of a side dish, or a cherry on top of a triple layered chocolate fudged cake. Besides, I suck at writing romance (a reason why the Harrys at my other stories are oblivious)! Insert shrug here.

The updates (for all three stories) will be slower than my usual pace for the month of February, sadly. I apologize. Real life's such a boring and dreadful game.

Story recommendation for today:** On the Horizon** by breather. This story is about Harry finding out that he's Reborn's grandson. He happened to find an incomplete divorce file from his grandparents, mother's side, and poked around a bit. When he found that he has a living relative other than those Dursleys, he went to seek Reborn out – and nearly got his brains blown out by his own grandfather. It's really interesting, and new. The pairing is unknown, however it's slash (I have a feeling that Harry will be paired with Fon).

_**Rainbows and Skeletons,  
>GenderlessPerson<strong>_


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